


Darling Don't Be So Shy

by vondrostes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Creampie, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mirror Sex, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Riding, Romantic Gestures, Size Kink, Sub Harry, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17641439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: “Look,” Mitch directed, dragging Harry’s head up so that he was face to face with his own reflection. “It’s about you, not me.”





	Darling Don't Be So Shy

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for a friend! ;)
> 
> Twitter: @vondrostes & @vondrostesupd8s  
> Tumblr: @vondrostes

“’Watch me, not him’?” Mitch gently mocked as he walked into the room. He’d changed out of his stage clothes into something a bit more comfortable, but even the sight of Mitch in just a t-shirt and too-tight joggers was enough to have Harry’s breath catching in the back of his throat.

“Just a bit of banter,” Harry replied, but it was just slightly too breathless to come off as casual, and they both knew it. “Thought you didn’t like to watch videos of the show,” he added quickly in an attempt at deflection.

Mitch’s eyes blazed as he approached Harry, who was still laid out flat on his back over the covers, wearing nothing but one of Mitch’s t-shirts—the one with motheaten holes all around the collar and hem—and a pair of short black briefs that left very little to the imagination.

Not that Mitch had any need to imagine what lay underneath.

“I didn’t watch it,” Mitch finally answered. “Someone showed Clare, Clare showed Sarah, Sarah told me. You know how it goes.”

Harry nodded. He might have limited his own use of social media long ago, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still hear things.

Mitch stalked toward him like a predatory animal; a cat, maybe, Harry thought to himself. A puma, lean and unassuming from a distance, but Harry knew just how aggressive Mitch could really be. And Mitch was radiating every ounce of that aggression now, so much so that Harry wasn’t even surprised when Mitch grabbed his upper arm and yanked him bodily off the bed.

Harry fell to his knees automatically and stayed there while Mitch circled him a few times, drawing out the anticipation until Harry almost wanted to scream just to break the silence.

“I’m trying to decide,” Mitch said as he finally came to a stop with his socked feet poised directly in front of Harry’s face.

Harry was tempted to respond, but he knew from experience that he shouldn’t. Mitch liked to take his time setting up a scene. Harry interrupting would just ruin the flow. So he stayed silent.

Mitch leaned down a few seconds later and tipped Harry’s chin up until their eyes met. “You want this night to be about you,” he said, confirming something that still eluded Harry’s understanding. “Get undressed.”

Harry scrambled to obey, shucking his clothes as quickly as possible before tossing them to the side in a messy pile. He felt viscerally aware of the way his cock was already starting to thicken between his legs, the way Mitch’s eyes lingered there for just a moment before drifting back up to his face.

“Bet if we posted a picture of you like this tomorrow, no one would look at me ever again,” Mitch commented with a wry smile.

Harry went hot all over. Mitch was well-versed in Harry’s wilder exhibitionist fantasies, how he got off sometimes to the thought of leaking his own sex tapes for everyone in the world to see. He made a noise without realising and then froze.

Mitch nodded encouragingly. “You can be loud,” he told Harry. “I want to hear you.”

Harry’s vision blurred for a minute. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could remain on his knees without toppling over. His prick was well on its way to hard now and Mitch hadn’t even touched him yet.

That was swiftly rectified just a few seconds later when Mitch leaned down to curl a hand into the top of Harry’s hair, tugging gently until Harry was stood in front of him, still waiting on further instruction.

Mitch didn’t give him any. He kissed Harry instead, long and slow and without pause, and Harry felt like he was drowning in it—but he didn’t care.

Harry was fully hard by the time they broke apart, and it was only the press of Mitch’s body against his own that prevented his cock from springing upright to slap against his belly. When Mitch finally pulled away, that’s exactly what happened, but Mitch didn’t laugh like some of Harry’s teenage shags might have. He just stared at Harry before turning around again and going to the entrance to the walk-in closet at the other end of the room.

Harry watched silently as Mitch opened the closet door to expose the full-length mirror on the other side. Mitch looked back up at Harry again; beckoned him over with a single hand.

Harry went without a word and found himself back on his knees less than thirty seconds later. This time he was on all fours with one of Mitch’s hands placed firmly in the centre of his back, keeping him still—not that Harry needed it. He was well-trained when he wanted to be, and was curious enough to see what Mitch had in store for him that he didn’t see the need to kick up a fuss. Harry only invited punishment when he was bored.

Right now, Harry was intrigued.

Mitch fingered Harry open while he knelt there with practised precision. He was almost clinical in his movements. He wasn’t trying to make it good for Harry yet; presumably that would come after.

And it did.

Harry was still tight when Mitch replaced his fingers with his cock, only just barely stretched enough to take it. Mitch wasn’t entirely unaffected. He stifled a groan into the crook of Harry’s shoulder even while Harry opened his mouth to let out an answering whine, unguarded and unashamed of the sound. Mitch had given him permission to be loud, after all.

Harry closed his eyes reflexively as Mitch thrust into him a few times, slow and testing, but a sharp tug at his curls had his eyelids fluttering open again.

“Look,” Mitch directed, dragging Harry’s head up so that he was face to face with his own reflection. “It’s about you, not me.”

Maybe that was why Mitch hadn’t even taken off his clothes, why he was fucking Harry with his joggers tugged down only just far enough to free his cock. The only bit of skin visible behind Harry’s heaving body was Mitch’s hands, his face buried between Harry’s shoulder blades, his panting breaths hot and wet against Harry’s skin.

Harry barely felt like he could breathe around Mitch’s cock, which felt like it ended somewhere in his ribcage. The pressure only increased when Mitch straightened his own spine, forcing Harry to follow suit.

“Hold yourself up,” Mitch directed, waiting until Harry’s hand was braced against the mirror before he resumed pounding into him in earnest. “Keep looking.”

Harry did as he was told, but he couldn’t resist the urge to make one final quip, even as Mitch’s fingers dug into the meat of his hip, leaving bruises that would probably last for days. “Keep this up and you might never be able to deflate my ego,” he joked, barely keeping it together even so.

Mitch was doing a much better job of maintaining his composure. His rhythm didn’t falter when he replied. “You’re the one out there calling yourself a narcissist onstage in front of thousands of people.”

“I didn’t really mean it like this,” Harry panted as Mitch pounded into him from behind. He could see every inch of himself as Mitch fucked him, and far from being a turn-off, Harry didn’t think he’d ever been harder in his life. With all the blood concentrated between his legs, there was barely any to keep his brain still functioning, and Harry was surprised he hadn’t passed out yet just from that.

“You don’t really love yourself, then?” Mitch asked. “There’s a lot to love from where I’m sitting.”

Harry warmed at the compliment. “I’d like to think I have higher-than-average self-esteem,” he replied, prompting Mitch to laugh, which finally altered his rhythm and made Harry suck in a deep breath at the sudden change in sensation.

“Why don’t you tell me what you love about yourself,” Mitch suggested as he nosed into the side of Harry’s throat before moving down to suck a dark bruise against his shoulder.

Harry could barely think straight, let alone perform a thought exercise, but his mind cleared up a little as he stared at himself in the mirror, wide-eyed and flushed from the feeling of Mitch’s cock like a steel bar pistoning inside him.

“I love…um…my hair,” Harry decided. He did love his hair. He missed his hair.

Mitch reached up again to run his fingers through what was left of Harry’s curls, tugging a little at the short strands and making Harry gasp. “What else?” he demanded.

Harry’s fingers clenched around the edge of the mirror as Mitch thrust into him even harder, like he was trying to literally fuck the answers out of him.

“I love my voice,” he tried, only to have Mitch laugh at him again.

“You and everyone else,” Mitch taunted. Not good enough.

“I love my nipples,” Harry said frantically, staring at his own chest, tinged pink with exertion even before Mitch put his hands over Harry’s nipples and pinched at them in turn—even the ones down below. “I love my tits,” he added, not wanting Mitch’s hands to move away again. “Please….”

But the lesson wasn’t over yet. “Keep going,” Mitch urged in a low voice.

“I love my thighs,” Harry gasped out, his sweat-slick hand starting to slip from its hold on the edge of the dressing room mirror. “I love my arse—”

“Me too,” Mitch hissed into the junction of Harry’s neck and shoulder, and Harry could see that his eyes were screwed shut in concentration as sweat dripped down from his forehead to his chin.

Harry suddenly, desperately needed to come. He was certain he would die if he didn’t. “Fuck,” he said, forcing the word out around a drawn-out moan. “I love—I love my cock,” he cried out, but Mitch’s hands didn’t move. “Fuck, Mitch, please, need you—”

Harry bent double at the first brush of Mitch’s hand around his cock, nearly slamming his head into the mirror when Mitch’s fingers curled around him and jerked upwards. There were fingers in his hair again, and Harry could barely comprehend what was happening as he was pulled back into Mitch’s chest, head tilted back so he was completely exposed in the mirror again.

“Want you to watch yourself come,” Mitch whispered in Harry’s ear.

So he did.

Harry watched with wide-eyes as his face contorted into something that should have been ugly but was somehow beautiful at the same time. Some of his partners looked like they were in pain when they came; Harry always looked like he was dying, and this time he felt like it too.

It took milliseconds for his cock to catch up with his brain, for his come to shoot out onto the mirror in ribbons of slick white, obscuring his reflection like he’d given himself a facial.

Mitch was still fucking him as Harry finally came down, his arse weakly clenching around the base of Mitch’s dick in feeble pulses. It hurt now, aching in a way that Harry knew he’d still be feeling tomorrow, but it was clear that whatever Mitch was after, he hadn’t gotten, or he would have made himself come, too.

“What do you want?” Harry asked desperately. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore. Mitch was doing that for him, a hand on his shoulder and the other still at his waist, holding him steady while Mitch continued his ceaseless, unforgiving rhythm.

“What do _you_ want?” Mitch shot back.

Harry’s mouth fell open, slack even as Mitch’s thrusts punched out sharp gasps from somewhere deep within his belly. What did he want? What did he still need? He’d come already, but it didn’t feel like enough. Maybe Mitch had sensed that. Maybe he was using his cock to dig whatever was left out of him.

“I want….” Harry struggled to find the answer hidden somewhere within himself. Mitch was still fucking him, but Harry was almost beyond feeling it now. “Want you to look at me,” he finally whispered, and for a moment, Harry thought Mitch hadn’t heard.

But then Mitch stilled, his grip on Harry finally relaxing. “Look at you, how?” he asked.

Harry shook his head and relaxed into Mitch’s hold. He didn’t know how to explain himself. Human speech seemed to be finally beyond his capabilities.

Harry let out a low whine as Mitch slipped out of him, but fingers covered Harry’s mouth, gently silencing him.

Mitch moved around Harry, with him, carefully nudging him into position until Harry was straddling Mitch’s hips, still facing the mirror while Mitch laid flat on his back on the floor. Harry could still see everything, and now, so could Mitch.

The cry that tumbled out of Harry’s mouth when Mitch guided him back down onto his cock again was louder than any other sound he’d made that night. “Love your voice,” Mitch told him, smoothing his hands down Harry’s sides as he gently rocked up into him. “Fucking love the sounds you make.”

Harry whimpered, and then groaned, loud and long, as Mitch adjusted them so that his cock was pressing against Harry’s prostate. He pushed in slow and deep and Harry felt like he was coming apart with every thrust.

“Love your hair,” Mitch murmured as he reached up his hands to thread through Harry’s curls again, this time Harry’s hands joined his, covering Mitch’s fingers as they scratched at his scalp.

Then Harry watched as Mitch leaned up to latch his mouth against one of his nipples. “Love your tits,” Mitch said as he pulled away before turning his head to bite down hard on the other side.

Harry let out a sharp scream that petered out into a gasp as Mitch flopped back down again, bracing his feet against the floor so that he could fuck up harder into Harry.

Mitch groped at Harry’s thighs, showering praise upon them in turn.  “Love your thighs.” He slid his hands to Harry’s arse and slowed his thrusts to almost a standstill. “Love your ass,” he muttered as he breached the already stretched hole with a finger, making Harry jolt like he’d just touched a live wire.

Mitch kept his finger there, letting Harry squirm and cry at the sudden stretch, while he reached between them to wrap his other hand around the base of Harry’s prick. “Love your cock,” he said, quickly coaxing another hard-on out of Harry, who was babbling incoherently as he felt himself being pulled toward a second orgasm.

“Love you,” Mitch finally said as he leaned up to connect their mouths.

Harry’s vision whited out for a second—or what felt like a second—and when he came to, he was lying flat against Mitch’s chest with Mitch’s arms wrapped around him, holding him steady as Mitch chased his own orgasm. It wasn’t until Mitch was coming in hot, wet pulses inside him that Harry realised he must have come again; there was semen staining Mitch’s t-shirt, making the fabric cling wetly to Harry’s bare skin.

Harry made an attempt to peel himself off of Mitch once Mitch’s cock had slipped out of him, only to give up on the endeavour immediately. “We probably shouldn’t fuck between shows,” Harry said dazedly.

Mitch snorted into his hair. “I told you that two months ago,” he retorted.

Harry nuzzled into his neck and closed his eyes. “Yeah, but now _I’m_ saying it.”

Mitch laughed because he knew Harry was right. Mitch might’ve been giving the orders in the bedroom, but Harry was calling the shots.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” Mitch commented a moment later, after their breathing had evened out a little and the post-sex haze had started to dissipate.

“Pretty sure you were using the other L-word when your dick was still in me,” Harry pointed out.

Mitch’s arms tightened around him just a fraction. “Fine,” he breathed out hotly. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “I am.”


End file.
